That's my Girl
by Miss Whoniverse
Summary: Bones is waken by an urgent call from Cullen at three in the morning. Oh dear, what could it be? Just a oneshot that occurred to me while I was writing the next chapter of another story. Please review! Enjoy


**Hey all! I'm sorry, I know I've just started a chapter story, but I had this idea I just quickly wanted to jot down because it didn't work **_**quite **_**as well in the other story. I mean, I could have used it, but why settle for second best? I promise I'll update the other one soon, but to be fair I only posted it yesterday.**

**Set before Zach got his doctorate.**

**Review, I love you all! :D**

Getting a call from Deputy Director Cullen at three in the morning was not the most exciting thing to wake up to. Did he really have to call her in the middle of the night to tell her about a new case? Why couldn't he just tell Booth to tell her in the morning?

These thoughts rumbled in Temperance Brennan's mind as she saw the ID on her phone. It was just out of reach, so she rolled jerkily and irritably to the side of her bed. Groping for her it on the bedside table, and then being blinded by the screen, she flipped it open.

"Brennan," she growled groggily. Whatever he wanted, she wasn't going to be in a pleasant mood.

"Doctor Brennan," gasped a rather frantic voice. It was Cullen, and he didn't sound in top shape either. Her mood shifted slightly. She wasn't any happier about the rude awakening, but she was less annoyed - if anyone could pull off that attitude, it was our good doctor.

"What's wrong?"

"Accident," he heaved with a huge breath. Her heart jolted in her chest, and she felt constricted. "Mistake. Went... wrong."

"Why are you calling me?" she asked frantically. "Booth? Is Booth okay; where is he?" There was a pause as the strained agent tried to catch his breath. "What's going on?" she asked more softly, in an attempt to calm him – and herself – down.

She quickly turned on speakerphone, tossed it onto the bed, and rolled off, unfeelingly fumbling for some jeans. A rattling sigh buzzed through the speaker, and she hopped on one leg as she struggled with the conspiratorially minded clothing.

"It was a raid," said the still-out-of-breath man. He was really too old to be out in the field, in Brennan's opinion, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she conquered the jeans and ripped off her pyjama shirt. "Standard procedure. Only, they were armed more heavily than the recon guys thought."

"Is..." interrupted Bones nervously. "Are... I mean, were... there any casualties?" She was afraid of the answer, and the shirt hung forgotten from her hands in the silence.

"Yes," he murmured sadly. He seemed to have recuperated. "Agent Andrews, a fine man, died at the scene, and some bystanders when the bastards blew up a side building. It was... they- we completely screwed up, Doc. Agent Booth was... he was shot, and he was just now taken away in an ambulance."

Bones froze. Somewhere in her mind, the analytical sense of thought was replaying his sentence over and over – she told herself it was because she was searching for signs in his voice suggesting the depths of Booth's injuries, but her blunt side informed her none-too-delicately that she was in fact terrified.

Objectively, she thought without meaning to, it was lucky she hadn't been holding the phone, otherwise it would have fallen from her hands.

"Doctor Brennan?" asked Cullen hesitantly. On the other side of town, surrounded by FBI and medical personnel and silhouetted by a burning building, stood a man who was completely focussed on the silence at the other end of the line.

"I have to go," said Bones, abruptly falling back into action. She lurched forwards and grabbed the phone, pausing before shutting it off. "Thank you."

Was he awake? Was the pain in his torso real, or imagined? Was it really possible for him to survive such pain? Was it really necessary that he survive? Was the wind rushing through his hair as he was rushed to hospital a figment of his imagination?

Was anyone listening? Was anyone waiting for him?

Thoughts – mostly questions - rolled around sluggishly in his head and his eyes slid around lethargically. One word was persistent, and he decided to say it because it was all he could think to do. It made him feel substantially better to be doing something; and he closed his eyes, saying it again.

"Bones."

They met at the hospital. Brennan pulled her car violently into a car park that she wasn't actually entitled to be in, and leaped out instantly, being forced to jump back as an ambulance screeched past her.

She followed it, running for all she was worth. She arrived panting for breath, watching with increasingly wild eyes as her Booth was unloaded from the back of the vehicle.

She paused for a millisecond. My _Booth? _She thought. _Yes, that seems appropriate, given the situation. Either way, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if he knew._

Without another thought she jogged directly to his side, then ran easily alongside the paramedics who were yelling ineffectually at her to get out of the way.

She ignored them with barely a glance and bent down to Booth; still running with them.

His eyes were fluttering and blood was soaked into his clothing and smeared at random over his face and body. Her heart went out to him straight away, and she stroked his forehead delicately as they barged through the hospital doors.

A small crease formed between his eyebrows, and she was a little shocked when he blearily opened his eyes. They didn't focus on her, but he was looking around slightly desperately, murmuring.

"Bohhns... ughn...." he whispered weakly, and her eyes widened infinitesimally as he realised he was looking for her.

She flickered her fingers slowly before him, and his eyes locked onto them after a moment's effort before sliding along her arm and to her face. She vaguely noted in the background that the paramedics were still trying to get her away, but she continued to ignore them. Booth almost smiled, but couldn't quite get the hang of the muscles to pull it off, but Bones appreciated the effort.

"Booth, you look like hell," she whispered to him, pushing a hand lightly through his hair to shake it out a bit. He relaxed into her grip and nodded a little.

"I thhnk... thinkh..." he tried, before coughing and wincing at the pain in his body. "You... they dohhnt want you... here." His eyes moved sluggishly to the medical personnel. She waved it away as they manoeuvred into a room.

"What happened?" she asked in concern, and he felt quite contented to have her staring down at him with light accusation on her face, while her hands fluttered around automatically to tend to him.

"I... I think I got shot," he said, sounding mildly surprised. He was getting the hang of talking, too.

"I can see that," she smiled, and then her eyes hardened. "Booth, you always tell me to be careful. Why don't _you_ be careful? I was... you know, worried about y-"

"Lady, will you please get out of here?" snapped one young – male – nurse, right in her face. She jerked back, and Booth attempted to frown and growl, but couldn't quite manage it. "We need to tend to his injuries. You're just getting in the way; so remove yourself, thank you!"

The man pushed in front of her – she was sure his expression was smug, but she didn't quite trust her ability to read faces – and looked critically at Booth, who sighed, missing Bones already. Then he realised that she was still there, and he smiled again. Vaguely noted was the building pain in his side and the fact that the adrenalin was having some effect on his perception of the situation.

She pushed the medic away and frowned at him venomously. "If I have to tend to him myself to stay here, then so be it. Go back to medical school," she snapped. If Booth was shocked at her attitude, he didn't show it – he just wanted her there beside him. He was becoming increasingly aware of the bullet which had passed through his side and his original barely-conscious-happiness was starting to fade.

The nurse was about to make an angry remark and push her away again, when she turned to face him, hands on hips. By now, Booth was shifted onto a surgical bed and hooked up to the machines, so most of the staff paused to see how this would play out. Booth smiled in anticipation, then gasped through his teeth at the pain it caused to move.

"Doctor Temperance Brennan, forensic anthropologist," introduced Bones coldly. "Multiple doctorates, I work at the Jeffersonian institute and with the FBI. I am the only forensic anthropologist in the state, and there are only a few in the entire country. I have had years of experience, travelled the world, and you should probably know that I'm trained in three martial arts. I can continue, but as I'm sure you can see, my point is that I am more qualified than you to be here, and I will not be leaving. Questions?" she said, not quite snapping, as she turned back to Booth and peered critically at his stomach.

There was silence, except for Booth's laboured breathing. A doctor entered the room, gauged the atmosphere instantly, and silently moved to Booth's side, attending to his injuries. Bones glanced upwards and looked the doctor over for a moment, before turning back to the nurse.

The shamed man grumbled irritably. "Who are you to say who can be in a room while he's being stitched up and attended to?"

Before Bones could reply, Booth spoke up - with difficulty. He felt better knowing that someone was tending to his wound, and he growled. "Special Agent Seeley Booth, FBI. I'd like Doctor Brennan in the room, and I don't care how you feel about this. If you insist on being a stubborn novice, I'll get a transfer - or a medical warrant to search the facility and employees for ANYTHING unprofessional or inappropriate."

Everyone left the room, not wanting to be around an SA for the FBI if he got mad and decided to do what he warned. The nurse still struggled with his wounded pride, and Booth winced at prodding hands touching his side.

"Look, do I need to get my goddamn gun out? Get out!"

At warning / threatening glances from the two doctors in the room, the nurse flounced out. Brennan turned to the other doctor.

"You know, you really shouldn't employ people like that," she said mildly, seating herself next to Booth, who reached out for her hand with gritted teeth.

"Believe me, I agree," muttered the aging man while his hands roamed expertly around the bloodied area. "Son, I'll get you some painkillers after I'm done dressing this. They didn't give them to you before 'cause we had some trouble recently... adverse reactions to the drugs, you know, the shiny new types and whatnot-..."

Bones squeezed his hand, and the other doctor's voice faded into the background. Booth got the feeling that the doctor had meant for his warm gravelly voice to relax his patient. He smiled tightly and shimmied back to lie on the bed. "You seem relaxed, Bones."

"It's not fatal," she pointed out. "I can see that you'll be fine, but sore. I do have a certain... rather unexplained vendetta against the person or persons responsible... but if it had been fatal, heads _would_ have rolled." She seemed oblivious as to how movie-star-like she sounded by using to line 'heads will roll' to her own extents and purposes, but it cheered him all the same. He closed his eyes.

"That's my girl."


End file.
